


Less Kind Without

by moonwalkingdead



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwalkingdead/pseuds/moonwalkingdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard sometimes, loving the man that is Daryl Dixon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Less Kind Without

When she finally blinks away sleep from slowly brightening eyes, the day is all sorts of cheerless. The sunlight is faint behind a dark gathering of clouds, and the sky is gray, drear. The world seems almost sad, colored as it is in a dull pewter, and far off a storm is brewing. Only a fading warmth on the bedspread, a warmth that is not hers, wards off the early morning chill. But it doesn't keep her comforted for long. 

She sits up, stretching tired limbs as she turns her gaze towards the nearest window. She doesn't really see what's beyond it, just looks contemplatively on. She stays this way, trying to completely wake up, until a breeze ruffles the drapes. It gently shakes her out of her reverie, prompting her to breathe deeply in. 

This is the world today: the smell of dew on still damp grass, of the coming rain. Of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey hanging heavy in the air. And underneath it all, something faint. The scent of last night's sweat and sex on the sheets, on her naked skin. 

She throws her covers aside to get out of bed and finds a strand of hair on her pillow. She picks it up and watches it twist around her fingers. In the half light, to her it looks like nighttime and stars spun together as it glints darkly against her pale flesh.

Mesmerized, she remembers last night in excruciating detail, a vivid memory shrouded in the dim glow of a sole lamp.

_When Daryl whispers her name, it is a rough caress. It's impossible to stifle her cries of pleasure when he's provoking her to fall apart like this, but she tries not to make too much noise. She is, however, encouraged to do otherwise._

_"Come on Beth."_

_It's a growling purr, akin to the sound a great feline makes to lull prey into a false sense of security just before the inevitable attack. A hot, wet tongue finds that special spot behind her ear, above her jaw, repeatedly flicking over her flesh._

_"That's it girl... louder."_

_She gives up trying to muffle her moans. She surrenders, and Daryl rewards her by moving inside her ever so slowly, stretching out this infinity of physical bliss for as long as it can last._

She lets the strand of hair fall on the floor and stands up, peels the soiled sheets off the bed with unnecessary determination. She focuses on her activities for the day as she bundles the covers for washing later. 

Because what's done is done, and she has learned not to dwell on what is over. And so she doesn't - not much, anyway. She distracts herself, goes over today's responsibilities in her head.

_Music classes until noon. Late lunch with Maggie. A visit to the cemetery._

It's not going to be busy, and she has the rest of the afternoon free. She wonders how to spend it as she prepares a bath, pulls out clothes, readies herself for the day. She hums under her breath, tunes her guitar, and today _almost_ seems normal.

Except everything is a diminished silver, and she cannot help but feel morose somehow, like there's something wrong. It must be the weather; this is what she tells herself. It's bleak and is affecting her mood and... yes, just the weather.

She steps into the tub, closes her eyes and allows the water to soothe her as she settles. Of course she's not unhappy, she tells herself. And she ignores the tightening in her chest that tries to tell her otherwise, because one other thing she has learned is to live with things as they are.

So if she wakes up to a room that is empty when it shouldn't have been, then it is as it should be.

..

The rain starts out as a mere drizzle, and the second graders take advantage of this rarity at this time of the year, taking the open path on their way to the music room. When they arrive in a flurry of excited conversation, they have droplets of water on their hair that they shake off at each other in fits of giggles. 

She watches them from the front of the room, feeling somewhat forlorn. They laugh so easily, she thinks, and she wonders when she last laughed about something as silly as getting drenched with rainwater. She looks back, comes up with nothing. 

She doesn't remember.

She receives scattered greetings from the kids as they settle, and she halfheartedly returns their eager smiles. She imagines they are happy to see her, and to be here, and to learn how to play these instruments, sing these songs. 

And it makes the task worthwhile.

"Is something wrong, Miss Greene?" 

She blinks and realizes she hasn't greeted them back when one of the children address her in a soft, concerned voice. And the smile on her face grows, becomes real. She shakes her head in reply and focuses on the here, the now.

"No, nothing's wrong. I was just thinking..." she stands up and picks up her guitar, eyes fleetingly looking outside the classroom before turning to her students. "Should we enjoy the cool weather today by moving our lesson outdoors?"

There is a resounding yes from everyone, and they move their things into one of the gazebos in the school garden. The children gather in front of her on the floor, and she too, sits among them with her legs tucked under her. And as she gazes at each one, she wonders what will become of them when they reach her age, and have learned all that there is to learn in more than just the music of the world. 

"Miss Greene?" Again, the silence has stretched on too long. She smiles and bows her head slightly in apology. "Sorry about that, let's start." She then strums the strings of her guitar dramatically, forgetting for now her melancholy. She still has the weather to blame for it.

They all start singing in unison, the kids already familiar with the song she's playing, and she forgets about everything else for now.

_"Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends..."_

..

What started out as a drizzle has become a violent downpour by the time she's settled in a booth within the same diner she and her older sister have always gone to with their parents and older brother since they were little. It's a decent little place with great food, and their family has known the owner for years.

Being here is usually a comforting thing to her because it's familiar, but now, all it does is leave her yearning for a past that is already out of reach. She aches for her youth, how she used to look at everything with bright eyes shining with nothing but good intentions. Life had been so much simpler growing up, but it's been years and she's changed. 

Now, it's difficult to hope about anything some days, the brightness in the blue of her irises all but faded and worn by the reality that while she may have good intentions, the rest of the world may not.

She sighs wistfully and sips on her sweet tea with its sprig of lemon grass, glancing at her watch. Her older sister is already late, but then again, Maggie has never been known for her punctuality. Lifting her gaze, she looks out the window and watches the rain to pass the time, listening to its relentless pounding and letting it lull her to a state of peace.

But she can't fool herself into believing that this momentary peace is what she wants it to be. Loneliness, after all, is a different thing from the tranquility she wishes she can feel on her own.

So the rain becomes just distracting noise, and it has to be good enough because at least there's something else than just the deafening silence of waiting. And she knows all about _that_ , she's dating him after all.

And when it comes to him, it's all she ever does.

She receives a message from Maggie just as she finishes her second glass of sweet tea. She can't come meet her, the text says, because it's raining too hard and Glenn's paranoid about letting his pregnant wife drive in this kind of weather. 

She tells Maggie she understands with smileys on her message so that her sister knows it's really okay, that they can just reschedule or she can visit them during the weekend. They make plans, sisters bonded by blood and pushed apart by their separate lives, trying to be a family still despite their shared losses.

She ends up eating by herself, but she's used to it. It's just another task on another normal day, nothing new. And by the time she's done with her meal, the rain has stopped and the sky is a lot clearer. She leaves the diner the exact same way she arrived. 

All alone.

She looks up at the hint of sunshine in the sky as she steps out, hoping it's some kind of good omen. Maybe this day will get better, she just has to wait and see. Or maybe not, but she has tomorrow, and the day after that, and next week, the next month, and the next year...

She shakes her head and walks toward her car, wondering if she even has any time left at all, because running out of it is always a possibility.

..

It's a good thing she replaced her heels with her old and trusty boots, because the way to the gravesite is terribly muddy and would have ruined the shoes she bought for school use. Although it has stopped raining, the ground is soft and slippery and she has to be careful about where to step.

It takes longer than usual, but she arrives eventually, somewhat brightening at the sight of her parents - their tall weathered tombstones with lovingly carved names and dates, all that's left of a life well lived.

"Hi Daddy, hi Mama." She says with a smile, carefully placing a pot of flowers she has grown at home on the spot between the two grave markers. "Happy anniversary."

There is silence, disturbed only slightly by the rumble of thunder in the distance, its accompanying rain probably wreaking havoc elsewhere now. She has so much to say, and this isn't the first time she's come here to talk to her parents, but she keeps her mouth shut and just looks.

Because she wants a conversation that isn't one-sided, longs the calming voice of her Daddy and the soothing presence of her Mama, but all she gets is cold, hard stone and the far off sound of a storm that has already left. 

Today, their absence weighs on her like it has only a few times before, and talking to thin air pretending her parents can hear her grown-up problems just isn't enough.

She closes her eyes and prays for a long time, the sky overhead melting the storm clouds into nothing so that she's the only bereft thing left under the great blue sky.

She makes it back to her car without crying, all the way out the cemetery and back home. Crying is for children so they can get what they want, but she's no longer a child. No matter how much she wants, she knows crying won't give it to her. 

In fact, she doesn't know what else will, but that's a problem for a little later in the evening, when he comes knocking on her door like he always does.

..

He's on her doorstep by a little half past ten, filthy as usual but not reeking of booze, for a change. When she opens the front door, her breath catches at the sight of his clear eyes because it's very rare that he comes here sober. 

The liquor helps, he's told her many times, in giving him the confidence that he doesn't have, hanging around a pretty girl like her who's too good for him - him with his self-doubt and emotional baggage and scarred back. But he's not drunk now, looks even a little happy with that little quirk on the corner of his lips.

And when he thrusts a bunch of wildflowers still glistening with raindrops under her nose, grins at her shyly from under those unkempt bangs with a muttered apology for leaving while she was still asleep this morning, her heart soars.

"It's okay." She says, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him into her house. She feels less sad now that he's here, more hopeful, the brightness in her eyes although still worn back there now after having been gone all day. 

One of his hands finds her face, cradling her cheek, and he steps forward and kisses her sweetly the way he does when he's not angry at himself and the world. "I missed you." He whispers, a confession that isn't easy for him, and she smiles as he wraps his arms around her. 

And she is reminded why she's doing this, bearing with the dark and the bad and the stupidity that forms the important parts that make Daryl Dixon him and whole.

"I missed you too," she whispers back, like it's a secret that her neighbors might hear. "I'm always missing you when you're not around." Daryl steps back then, eyes finding hers, and tonight there is no doubt in his gaze. This is the kind of night she wants for him always, nights where he's not swimming in insecurity and just _believes._

The same hand cradling her cheek moves in a caress on her skin as his grin softens into a solemn expression. "So patient," He murmurs, his voice amazed, sad, and a little scared, all at the same time.

She turns her head and nuzzles his fingers, and when Beth Greene looks back at Daryl, she has only one reply to him that she's told him a hundred times before.

"You're worth the wait."


End file.
